Picking up the pencil with haste.
I Harshly applying the words onto paper.
Not wanting my words to go to waste.
The pencil glides along like a thin razor.
Ideas just burst within me.
They scatter around my mind,
Crying to be let free.
Becoming wickedly intertwined.
Continuing my crooked pace.
Not daring to stop for a single minute.
The words giving me a chase.
I catch them like delinquents.
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 12:31 PM UTC
Picking up the pencil with haste.
I Harshly applying the words onto paper.
Not wanting my words to go to waste.
The pencil glides along like a thin razor.
Ideas just burst within me.
They scatter around my mind,
Crying to be let free.
Becoming wickedly intertwined.
Continuing my crooked pace.
Not daring to stop for a single minute.
The words giving me a chase.
I catch them like delinquents.
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